


there was snow on the ground and the trees looked white

by treacherousdoctors



Category: I Was Born for This - Alice Oseman
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Home for Christmas, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, just pointless festive niceness bc i romanticise christmas as a means of coping with my sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26231617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treacherousdoctors/pseuds/treacherousdoctors
Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Lister wants to go for a walk through the snow-covered streets of their hometown. Jimmy couldn't possibly say no.
Relationships: Allister "Lister" Bird/Jimmy Kaga-Ricci, Jimmy Kaga-Ricci & Pierro Ricci, Lister Bird & Pierro Ricci
Comments: 19
Kudos: 56





	there was snow on the ground and the trees looked white

**Author's Note:**

> happy september! this is so seasonally inappropriate and i'm a little bit ashamed but we all do what we can to cope with the weight of the world! basically this is just 3000 words of soft christmassy nothingness inspired by the slight breakdown i had the other night at 5am because i realised that life will never be quite as good as the december of 2015.
> 
> timelines in this are a bit odd? it's set december 2020, but an alternate universe 2020 where none of 2020 has happened. it's also meant to be the same year as the events of the book? time isn't real i am just festively vibing merry christmas
> 
> please note this is entirely unedited & is just a sleepless stream of consciousness, pls excuse any and all faults
> 
> ((title from 'i'm sorry about yesterday' by fox academy))

Jimmy is almost asleep on the sofa when the buzz of his phone draws him back to reality. The living room is warm, wood fire burning brightly and making up for the lack of natural light now the sun has gone down. Everything is cast with an orange glow, save for the things picking up the blue and green twinkle of the lights on the tree. An old CD of carols is playing almost too softly to be heard.

It’s Christmas Eve, and a light dusting of snow has fallen outside. Jimmy unlocks his phone.

_ walk? meet at urs? _

Lister is, as always, cutting right to the chase.

“Grandad? Is it alright if I go out for a bit?”

Pierro looks up over the top of his book. “You’re a grown man now, Jimbob. No need to ask permission.”

“Sure you won’t need me?”

“I’ve got my book to read. I’m sorted until Santa comes.”

Jimmy rolls his eyes with an affectionate smile and walks upstairs to change out of his pyjamas. He can barely be bothered - Lister has seen him in far less flattering clothing. If they weren’t going out anywhere, he’d just stay in his comfy fleece pants with a reindeer pattern and deal with any gentle teasing that might float his way. Unfortunately, that’s not really an option.

He slips into some comfy jeans and a sweater (hand-knitted by his grandma years back, and still the warmest thing he owns). With a glance outside at the weather, he also slips on a hat, scarf, and a pair of gloves. There’s a gentle knock on the door.

“Hi.” Lister says, within seconds of the door opening.

“Hello.” Jimmy smiles back.

Lister’s cheeks are flushed pink and there are snowflakes clinging to the tips of his hair refusing to melt. He hasn’t bothered with as many layers as Jimmy, and his hands are turning pink. Jimmy stares for a second at his hands - long, slender fingers, dry and cracking from cold.

Lister waits patiently as Jimmy laces up his boots, and bids Pierro a cheery goodbye as they finally walk away.

“Sorry for the short notice. Just wanted out the house.”

"'S'fine. Everything okay?"

The frost cracks underfoot and, as Lister is forming an answer, Jimmy takes in his surroundings.

Their village isn't big. It's a fifteen-minute walk from end to end, with an understated high street and one small park in between. Most people only pass through as a means of getting somewhere more interesting, which is part of the reason Jimmy likes it - evenings such as these, past dark with everywhere shut and the weather unfriendly, it's possible to wander for hours without ever seeing another soul. There's comfort in the solitude it brings.

The high street is decked out for Christmas in that wonderfully small-town way, nothing like the bright lights and spectacle of living in central London. The leafless trees that line the roads have string lights strewn across them, and there are a few sad pieces of tinsel wrapped around the lampposts. It's beautiful, in a strange way. Peaceful and picturesque, homely somehow. It feels like a warm hug (as much as a place can).

"Mum and I just aren't big on Christmas." Lister shrugs. "All the bits and bobs that needed doing are done, so we're just sort of… waiting until it's acceptable to go to bed."

Jimmy nods. "I get it."

"Plus, 's just nice to be out, ain't it? When else do we ever get the chance to walk about like this?"

Jimmy nods again, and they keep walking. There's a packet of cigarettes poking out of Lister's coat pocket, still sealed. His breath stands out in front of him like a cloud of smoke, and the familiarity of it warms Jimmy's heart. He's been smoking less lately, which is good, but it's hard not to be just a little sad over the absence of the previously ever-present smokey musk that clung to his clothes. Without it, he's just a little less Lister.

With the snow still swirling around their heads, Lister pulls his AirPods out of his pocket and hands one to Jimmy. They each put one in an ear, and Lister scrolls through Spotify for a few moments. The first bars of  _ Lost Boy  _ by Troye Sivan drift through the air. A smile finds its way to Jimmy's lips unbidden.

"Remember year eleven, when this first came out?" He murmurs, and Lister turns to look at him. "We used to listen to it on the walk to school."

"I remember. It was the only thing you'd let me play for, like, a solid month."

Jimmy grins. "Christmas 2015 in an album. It's not even Christmassy."

"Not in the slightest." Lister agrees fondly, his voice barely above a whisper. "That was a good time. That December. Back before everything got properly crazy."

For the first time, Jimmy sees the hint of sadness in Lister's eyes. It's understandable, honestly. Jimmy has been feeling it too. Being back here doesn't feel  _ right  _ in the way that it used to. Almost like they've grown out of the confines of their tiny hometown. Last time they were here, a little less than four months ago, everything was the worst it's ever been - it doesn't feel like that now, but it still isn't the way it was before. It may never be again.

Growing up is one of the strangest things in the world. It notices more at times like these - the two of them, side by side, walking streets they know like the backs of their hands and listening to an album that defined so much of a year-long past - when it's impossible to ignore how much they've changed. They're recreating a moment that's lost to time. The same song, the same walk, but some things are too different to get back. They're no longer trying to defend against the weather with nothing but a polyester school blazer, no longer using the music to ignore the homework due first lesson that neither of them has completed. They're taller, broader,  _ older _ . They're always going to be older. They'll never be as young as they were when this song was everything.

"I'm glad I got to see you this evening." Lister's voice cuts through the silence. "Being home has me thinking a lot."

"Me too."

"Answer honestly," He begins, but pauses as if to rethink. "Honestly: back then, did you think we'd be here? Like, December walks to school with Blue Neighbourhood. Did you seriously think we'd still be doing the same five years later?"

Jimmy doesn't answer straight away. Lister doesn't seem to mind.

They keep wandering the streets, off the high street and into the more residential part of the village. A few houses have lights outside, but most don't - it's England, after all. What stands out is the  _ warmth  _ that seems to radiate out of living room bay windows. Firelight, Christmas trees, silhouettes of loved ones on sofas. Every house looks full, content, overflowing with love. That's the part of this season Jimmy loves, the togetherness of it all. He spends every day with people, but he still tends to feel alone. That doesn't happen at Christmas,  _ can't  _ happen at Christmas. It always feels like the whole world is on the same wavelength, connected by this time to reflect. Even those that don't celebrate are holed up in their homes with families born and chosen. 

The light from the windows casts a soft orange glow across the snow-frosted street.

"I maybe didn't think we'd be exactly  _ here _ . Same song and everything. But I think I knew we'd still have each other. Even before we knew the band would take off, I knew I had you two."

"Same." Lister nods solemnly. "The band was the dream and everything, but I was okay enough with you and Ro. That was enough."

It dawns on Jimmy that they're moving further and further away from either of their homes, but somehow it doesn't bother him. Really, with the weather like this, he should be whining about wanting to get inside and get cosy on the sofa with a thick blanket and a mug of spiced tea. 

There's something about this time of year. He starts feeling festive every year in around August with little regard for Halloween, much to the annoyance of Rowan and half the fanbase. Christmas has just always appealed to him more. It's not about the day itself, or about everything it means in a religious sense (though those things are nice too) as much as about the energy of the months leading up to it. In November and December, when the sun goes down at 4 and there are pretty lights everywhere you go, he feels comforted. It's a time of year where at any moment, without reason or plan, you can just give up on real life in favour of watching  _ Love Actually  _ by the fire, blanket over your shoulders and tea in hand. The world seems to stand still for winter in a way it doesn't for anything else.

Eventually, after a good half hour of walking, Lister asks to sit down. There's a metal bench beneath a street lamp, lightly dusted with snow.

He mumbles something about his leg, but it's a throwaway comment that's really there to fill silence rather than actually explain himself. It doesn't bother Jimmy - he's happy to take a break.

The area they're in is entirely deserted. It's just outside the village, on the outskirts of actual civilisation, and after this bench there's nothing else to accommodate human beings for as far as the eye can see.

Lister pulls the unopened cigarette box from his pocket, along with a lighter.

"I thought you weren't smoking as much?"

Lister shrugs. "Nothing counts at Christmas."

There's a certain comfort in how ordinary this is. The two of them in companionable silence, music still playing but barely being heard, with a cloud of smoke between them. Lister has one leg bent up beneath him on the bench, the other - his still-healing one - stretched out in front of him. There's a rim of compacted snow around the sole of his Docs.

Things have been strange in the months since everything went down. Not  _ bad  _ strange, but strange nonetheless. They've all been focused on Lister's recovery, and distanced from their music for the first time since they were still in school. The bond that already existed between the three of them has strengthened, to the point Jimmy is now pretty sure both his bandmates can read his mind without even trying.

After taking a final drag and listening to the satisfying hiss of the still-burning end dropping in a puddle of slush, Lister turns to Jimmy.

"What do you think next year will be like?"

"Better than this one." Jimmy responds firmly, without a moment's hesitation. "I think it'll be our best yet."

"You sound sure."

"I  _ am  _ sure. I want it to be good, so it'll be good. I'm not gonna let it not be."

Lister smiles, looking away. It could be mistaken for a secret sort of smile, one that Jimmy isn't part of. The two of them know different. This is a shared smile, one Jimmy is invited to experience without truly understanding why. It's for just them, a smile that ties them to one another without the need for words.

The last song on the album fades out, and it seems to startle them both to remember that they've been listening to it this whole time.

The snow becomes heavier all of a sudden, and a cold gust of wind rips through them. Without a second thought, Jimmy takes Lister's hand and pulls him to his feet. Lister's eyes widen in surprise, and Jimmy's breath catches in his throat when he observes the way the twinkling lights that line the street reflect in his glassy irises.

The walk back to Jimmy's house goes by a lot quicker than the walk away. In less than twenty minutes, they're back inside with the kettle brewing. Pierro is fussing around them, mumbling disapprovingly about how visibly cold Lister's hands are, how he needs to wrap up warmer or he'll catch his death. He sends the boys through to the living room as he makes up three cups of spiced tea, and impels Lister to wrap his hands around the mug until he warms up a bit. He settles into his own armchair. 

"When Jimmy was little," he begins, a faraway look in his eye and a smile on his face, "he would call this Christmas Tea. His grandma would tell him over and over again,  _ 'it's called Spiced Imperial, we can get it all year', _ but he'd have none of it. He'd call it Christmas Tea, and if anyone said any different he'd pretend not to know what we meant. It was his favourite drink, but he wouldn't let us make him a cup if it wasn't Christmas… 26th of December, and there'd be no more Christmas Tea for another year."

Lister smiles fondly. "Sounds like Jim. Everything his way."

"Exactly, exactly. He's always known his own mind."

"In my defence, Mum always called it Christmas Tea." A dark blush has flooded Jimmy's face.

"She called it that  _ once  _ to make it sound special. It was you who ran away with it."

Pierro smiles fondly before taking a sip of his drink. Jimmy, still blushing, lifts his mug to hide his face.

"It's nice tea. I'd say we should get some for the flat, but I don't want to piss Jimmy off."

"I'm not five anymore! You can buy the Christmas Tea!" Jimmy snaps, but he's laughing. 

This is the type of moment Jimmy loves, fantasises about year-round. A moment that feels like Christmas, though the day itself hasn't yet arrived. It's the energy of it, the air of joy, framed with tinsel and glowing orange in the warmth of the fire. This is a moment that feels like family, sharing stories with steaming mugs of tea in their hands. It's familiar, familial, warm. It's like a moment from a picture book.

It's everything Jimmy loves about the Christmas season. Once all the commercialism is put aside, with no mind paid to gifts and aesthetics, and even taking the Christianity away (though, of course, that means the world to him in a different way), what it boils down to is  _ love.  _ He likes to think you can have a perfect Christmas without ever going to church and without a penny in your pocket. Everything about it is beyond what you can see, beyond the tree and the fire and the snow. It's about the feeling, about the warmth of sharing moments with those that mean everything to you.

They keep talking for a few hours (with Lister requesting as many baby Jimmy stories as Pierro is willing to tell). The snow has eased up a little, back to delicate flakes swirling through the air and settling on the window panes. After finishing up his third mug of Christmas Tea, with the clock on the mantelpiece telling them it's long past 11, Lister rises to his feet. 

"I should definitely get going. My mum'll be waiting."

"Of course" Pierro nods. "Wish her a merry Christmas from me. And you two have a good day tomorrow."

"We will!" Lister smiles, reaching over to hug Pierro goodbye. "Same to you both. Thanks for having me."

Lister is always uncharacteristically polite to Jimmy's grandad. They get along really well, and it makes Jimmy's heart swell. It's nice to know that his two best friends treat the most important man in his life with all the respect he deserves.

Jimmy traipses after Lister into the hall, watching in silence as he ties his laces with his still-icy fingers. A thought hits him, and he jogs through to the dining room to take something out of the sideboard. When he returns, Lister looks bewildered.

"Gloves?"

"Your hands look cold."

"It's a twenty-minute walk, Jim."

"You're one of the top five drummers of the 21st century, we can't have your fingers falling off." Jimmy grins.

Lister rolls his eyes but takes the gloves anyway. He smiles again, the same one as before, the secret little smile that Jimmy can't help but mirror.

They share a slightly awkward hug (all their hugs are awkward, what with Lister being a good six inches taller than Jimmy) and Lister steps outside, his nose immediately turning pink with cold. Jimmy stands in the doorway, watching affectionately as he walks away. 

He takes in everything about how Lister looks in this moment. His slightly lopsided gait, the way his jacket is flapping about in the wind, the snowflakes landing in his hair. He's barely to the end of the street when Jimmy calls out.

"Lis, wait!"

He runs to catch up with him, ignoring that he hasn't put any shoes on and the snow has soaked through his socks within seconds. Lister turns to face him, perplexed, and Jimmy comes to a stop just inches away from him. He stands in silence for a second or two, catching his breath. Lister's eyes are wide again, reflecting the soft glow of the streetlamp they're stood beneath.

"You alrigh—"

He can't finish his question before Jimmy cuts him off with a kiss. For a split second Lister is stunned into inactivity, but he kisses back almost immediately.

They stand there for who knows how long - it feels like seconds, hours,  _ days  _ all at the same time - and only pull apart when they both need to breathe. Jimmy exhales shakily, and his breath immediately forms a cloud in front of them.

"Merry Christmas." He whispers, one hand still tangled in the front of Lister's shirt.

"Merry Christmas." Lister whispers back, the confusion in his face offset by the glint of sheer joy in his eyes.

The snow continues to fall around them as they stare at each other silently. Somewhere in the distance, the church bell strikes midnight.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading ! i am very very single and i want it to be december :) if you've read this much of me projecting my yearning for a christmassy romance onto bocci, i commend you and thank you for ur time
> 
> feel free to follow me on tumblr @charliespringverse, where i promise i am not usually talking about christmas in september


End file.
